


good and ready

by mairesmagicshop



Category: The Arcana (Visual Novel)
Genre: F/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Shameless Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-15
Updated: 2018-07-15
Packaged: 2019-06-10 18:08:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,152
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15297111
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mairesmagicshop/pseuds/mairesmagicshop
Summary: NSFW one-shot based on @ilyatrash’s drunk dom!Julian headcanon WHICH I LOVE.





	good and ready

**Author's Note:**

> For @ilyatrash, @kai-the-pittiful-child and any other thirsty souls who wanted to see our svelte disaster boyfriend get a few drinks in him and be a little more, ahem, assertive

“Ladies in the center!” the fiddler cries out. “Gentlemen in the chairs!”

Julian doesn’t quite know what to make of this rearranging of the dance floor at the Raven tonight, but his striking companion has quite a gleam in her eye and he realizes he’s at a loss; she clearly knows more than he does about this next dance. He takes his seat, hands folded in his lap as she stands in front of him. She looks down at him, positively leering, her tongue running along her top teeth. He returns a suggestive grin; he loves her this way.

She’s been tempting him all night, in fact; matching him drink for drink and my god, he thinks, that woman can hold her liquor; rolling her hips suggestively into his every time their bodies met, her fingers dipping below his waistband, skittering across his chest, holding him close by his ass for all to see. She doesn’t seem drunk, not quite. She’s had just enough to lose all her inhibitions and her intentions couldn’t be plainer. He shifts in his seat, the familiar fullness settling between his legs. He’s had as many drinks as she has and, as she frequently teases him, has a much lower threshold for what some might consider scandalous public behavior. It’s made him bold; makes him want to back her up in an alley somewhere and ravish her under the moonlight, the very indecency of it setting him aflame.

So he waits, his gaze trailing the length of her figure and back up to meet her eyes, mouth curved into an enigmatic smile as if to impart a message with just a look: Just you wait to see what I’m going to do with you.

The fiddle wails suddenly, the tones foreign and sultry, and she drops to the floor, her hands dragging up the side of his legs. What kind of dance is this? Hands on his knees, she springs up, swings her hips in a sinuous pattern, rolling them toward him and then away. He reaches a hand out to touch her and she strikes faster than a viper, slapping it down. He bites his lip, inhaling sharply; shakes his hand playfully as the dance continues.

It’s as if her body is made for the music, made of the music; each sensuous whine of the fiddle leaves his mouth dry as her body twists and turns, an invitation to sin and pleasure; a reminder to him of what she’s made him feel and how he cannot stop wanting her, no matter how many times it’s been.

Her face and neck are dewy with sweat and he begins to feel self-conscious, that he may not be able to get up right away when the song is over lest everyone actually see the evidence of his arousal, when all he wants to do is run out of here with her to some secluded spot and put his hands and mouth all over her, to show her what she’s done to him. And it’s clear from her face that she’s enjoying herself immensely in tantalizing him, dropping in close and moving just out of reach.

The song comes to a dramatic close, and she finishes on his lap, her back arched, arm looped back around his neck. Good, he thinks. Convenient. He wastes no time.

Hoisting her up in his arms, he calls out his farewells to friends as they whistle in response to their tawdry little scene. She plays at fighting him but he will have none of it. Booting the door open, he takes her out into the cool night. Turns the corner. Heads down the dark alley beyond.

She’s clawing at his collar, pulling his face to hers, biting his lip. “Put me down,” she hisses.

He dips her theatrically, his tongue pressing roughly against hers before he pulls away. “When I’m good and ready, my dear.”

He finds the right spot – quite dark, obscured by some planks of wood and barrels in the alleyway. He sets her down and presses his hips against her, until she’s against the wall. “Ilya…” she begins, but he lifts a gloved hand to her lips before pinning her wrists above her head. “Now, now – we wouldn’t want to get caught out here, would we?” He takes his glove off with his teeth, dragging it off in one smooth, familiar motion; reaches down to bunch up her skirt and lift it just enough to slip his hand beneath. He brings the other hand down to lift one of her legs against him and she gasps, a lovely little mewling sound as his finger trails over her naked sex – the minx, wearing nothing beneath her skirts.

The slickness he finds there quickens him, the hard, penned-in length of him rubbing against the side of her hip. He presses the heel of his hand onto her; one, then two fingers slowly slipping into her depths as he runs his tongue from her collarbone up her neck, tasting the salty tang of her sweat and he’s suddenly dizzy with her, her scent and her closeness, all around him. She clutches him, trying to close every gap between them, begging him to take her, and he feels her nimble fingers at his waist, working to free him from the constraints of his - now rather snug - pants. She’s successful, and she wraps her smooth fingers around him, stroking him and encouraging him toward her. Julian is not an overly patient man, and tonight, he can wait no longer.

With her help, he finds the entrance he seeks, her sweet warmth enveloping him and he thrusts, bolstering her against the wall with all of his strength. Throwing her head back, she exposes her neck to him and he seizes upon it, dragging his teeth under her jaw, sucking at the delicate skin there. He hears the whine beginning to escape her lips and he silences it with his mouth as he drives on beneath her, their bodies joined in a dance all their own. She strains against him, writhing, the little noises she makes drawing him closer to the edge.

Julian hears a noise; voices, perhaps? The fear of discovery cuts through him like a knife, a shiver passing through them both, it seems, and sends him tumbling over the edge; he grips her backside, fingers biting into her flesh, and he comes, the release exploding like a lightning storm over the sea, and for a moment all they can hear is the dull roar of their rushing blood and hearts beating, breaths heavy, and he claims her mouth once more.

He eases out of her and gently sets her down, as she presses kiss after kiss to his lips. They compose themselves quickly before they join hands and run off into the night, laughter ringing down the alley and the moonlight spilling over their shoulders.


End file.
